Christmas at Gate 18 Read online

  “Oh we’ve met. It’s a great story actually. But if you don’t remember it…” He yawns like he’s actually planning to sleep. “Let’s leave it that way.”

  “But—”

  “Tell you what.” He rolls his head and drags one eye open. “If you don’t remember it before we leave here, I’ll tell you right before we go our separate ways. Deal?”

  Of course it’s not a deal, I want to say. You’re going to tell me now or I’m going to kill you, I want to protest. Yet I don’t. I won’t be that girl, the girl who grovels. The girl who begs. The girl who threatens murder when she doesn’t entirely mean it. I’ve never killed anyone before. It might be hard. Messy, at the very least.

  Give me an hour or so and I might not care.

  For now, I swallow my irritation and hear myself say…

  “Deal.”

  Annoying how easily I relent.

  I glance out the window at the streams of water sliding against the panes and wish to escape into it. Across from me, a man I remember seeing in line earlier bends over, whispering something in a harsh tone to one of his boys. His hair looks even more unkempt now, his eyes are bloodshot, and his agitated demeanor screams of someone who has missed out on a couple night’s sleep. Unfortunate since this layover with no end in sight just started. Who knows when any of us will really sleep again?

  With GQ guy staring at me the way he is, it isn’t likely anytime soon.

  For now, I have more pressing things to think about.

  “My turn for the bathroom. Can you save my spot?”

  Beside me, he shrugs without opening an eye. “Well, see now, I’m not sure. It’s getting pretty crowded here and it might be nice to have a little more room to stretch out. Your absence would give me another…” His eyes crack open and he gives me a slow once-over. Jerk. “…ten inches to myself. What size are you anyway, a zero?”

  I stand up with a sigh and glare down at him. “I’m a four, and this spot that I found better be here when I get back.” Reaching for my backpack, I pull at the strap, trying to force his foot off. I have to tug twice before it finally comes free.

  “You can leave that bag here, you know. I probably won’t look inside.”

  “I’ll take it with me.” I glare at him in an effort to disguise that the mere thought of leaving it behind makes me physically weak. Wobbly from the inside out. With some effort, I force confidence into my voice and brush at the faint shoeprint mark he left behind again. “Keep your nasty foot off my bag. Besides, I might need some things in here. You know, things like…um…” I can’t think well under pressure, especially considering it’s all a lie. “Things like…like…”

  “Make up? Perfume? Tampons?” he says.

  I’m not amused. “Definitely not those.” My stupid face blooms red anyway. Thank God it’s still mostly dark in here. “I’ll be right back, and remember what I said—save my spot, or else.”

  I get a shrug as a response and trudge my way across the walkway, yanking my bag over my shoulders as I go. It bugs me that he’s right. Despite its size, this thing is heavy and I should have left it behind. But I can’t part with it. Of all the things I own in life, which is quite a bit by most people’s standards, it would unravel me most to lose the contents of this bag. It’s funny how nearly everything inside was disposable until six years ago—a few childhood mementos, a scarf, a ribbon I used to hate. But when daily occurrences become a mere memory, things take on meaning. Once meaning latches on, it grows in intensity. That’s how the human brain works, if only to help make sense of things we can’t comprehend.

  I manage to make quick work of things and am halfway through washing my hands before I get a good look at my reflection. As far as appearances go, I’ve fared worse. My hair isn’t too stringy yet, and my make-up is still in place except for two faint black smudges under my eyes that might pass for a smoky look if not for an inky line above my cheek.

  I slide a wet fingertip over my skin to remove the spot. The resulting effect doesn’t look great, but pulling my ball cap low across my eyes helps a little. I’m not even a Mariners fan, but the hat was on sale at the Seattle airport when I left town and I grabbed it in a last-minute desire for anonymity. Most people are courteous, but occasionally I’ll get the nasty guy sending creepy looks my way, and in those instances it doesn’t hurt to pull my hair inside a cap and pretend I’m a guy. It never works as well as I think it will, but it hasn’t stopped me from trying. For a moment, I consider trying now but ultimately decide against it. Too much trouble, and it has nothing to do with the nameless guy who’d better be holding my spot on that nasty blue carpet.

  I dry my wet hands on my jeans and latch onto my bag, feeling the relief that always comes from contact with the straps. Some might think it weird, some might call me obsessive, some might think this bag is like a security blanket that I can’t fall asleep without at night. They would all be right, but then again none of them have lived my life. If all your valuables fit inside the confines of an airplane carry-on bag, you might clutch it a little tighter as well.

  It only takes me three steps outside the bathroom door to see that someone is sitting in my place. The guy I left in charge of guarding the area leans against the wall sound asleep, while a girl sits next to him with her legs curled up. She’s focused on an iPad, the soft glow from the screen’s light illuminating her face against the beginnings of a new day. She’s pretty. Strikingly so. I start to roll my eyes at the predictability of it all when I glance at the guy again. He hasn’t moved; looks like he has been out since I left. And he wanted me to leave my bag with him. So irresponsible. With a fair amount of resentment, I realize I can’t hold her good looks against him. I also realize something else.

  She needs to move.

  I’m actually kind of thankful for this opportunity. Once when I was younger, an uncle told me I was passive, weak, unable to stand up for myself. That as a result, I would likely spend my life being knocked around and dragged around and being pushed into proverbial corners where sweet little girls go to congregate and commiserate about what life might be like in the limelight—away from the confines of our own private insecurities.

  But what he didn’t know was that inside, I was a fighter. Inside, I wanted the spotlight. Down deep, I was never okay with the corner. But it took losing everything six years ago to force me out of the shadows.

  Now, the shadows are light years behind me.

  I plant myself in front of the pretty girl who sits next to GQ guy whose name I still don’t know. Both are sprawled out next to each other. Leg to leg and foot to foot, practically thigh to thigh. And right now it doesn’t matter that only one of them is awake to know it, because it’s my spot. So without stopping to consider the effect of my actions or consequences of my suddenly quick temper, I glare down at her, taking time to accidently on purpose kick the toe of my shoe against the heel of the sleeping guy next to her. Now he can deal with my footprint on him for a change.

  “Get out of my spot before I pick you up and force you out. Got it?”

  Chapter 4

  Colt

  If I’ve ever held a preconceived notion about another human being, this supermodel chick standing in front of me just assured that I never will again. Who knew that underneath those soft curves, flowing hair, and pillowy lips lay razor sharp edges and nerves made of jagged metal?

  It’s kind of a turn on.

  Except that I’ve sworn off women. It’s only been a few hours, but I’m already getting tired of reminding myself.

  “I’m pretty sure you made that girl cry the way she ran out of here so fast. You even scared me a little.” Even though I’m still tired and really wish people would stop waking me up, I raise an eyebrow at her and force back a smile for the second time in as many hours.

  She plops down beside me, taking extra care to slam me in the shoulder. “You should have paid more attention instead of letting her sit here. I get that she was pretty, but honestly—”

  �
�I was asleep.” I give her a look. “I have no idea what she looked like.” Trying to recall a vision of her in my sleep-deprived mind, something quickly surfaces that I can’t help but say out loud. “Though I did get a halfway decent view of her butt when she walked away, and I’ve got to say—”

  “Men.” She sighs loud enough for the whole place to hear.

  “No, she was most definitely a woman. One hundred percent certifiably female.”

  “You’re a pig. First the comment about my underwear, and now her. The poor girl doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment from you, even if she isn’t here to hear it.”

  “Says the lady who made her run screaming from the room. She’s probably in the bathroom right now, contemplating killing herself as she dry heaves over the toilet.”

  After a brief pause, she scrunches her eyebrows and pulls her lower lip between her teeth, looking genuinely worried. Not to mention freaking adorable. It’s all I can do not to kiss her when she looks my way with wide doe eyes, like she’s just broken her mother’s oldest china plate, and she can’t decide whether to be scared or ashamed.

  “Now I feel bad,” she says. “Do you think I should go find her and apologize?”

  I shake my head. “No, I think she’s fine. She actually looked more like she wanted to scratch your eyes out than cry. You seem to have that effect on people. I’ve only known you a few minutes, and I’ve already wanted to punch you twice. Maybe three times…”

  Beside me, I hear her lips pop on a smile. “Touché. Starting now, I’ll try to be nicer.”

  My insides flip around a little at the words, and something tells me then that I might have trouble keeping my resolve in check. I like tough women. I like gentle women even more. But the combination of both…

  Still, she’ll have to convince me before I’ll believe she can pull off being nice.

  “Starting now, I’ll try to believe you.” I laugh when an elbow slams me in the ribs. The man across from us levels a death glare my direction, but instead of lobbing one back, I settle against the wall and work on going back to sleep.

  * * *

  “I need a toothbrush.”

  And this is what I wake up to three hours later. She’s not kidding, she needs one. And mouthwash. Now.

  “What time is it?” I sigh and run my hands through my hair, my back sore from all this floor sitting, my head pounding from trying to sleep against drywall.

  “It’s almost seven. I need a toothbrush.”

  Even though I know better, I let my face contort into a grimace. “Yes you do, and please don’t say another word until you use it. Do you have one in your bag?”

  A shadow of guilt crosses her eyes, such a brief spot of blackness that, if I hadn’t been looking right at her, I would have missed it. But I didn’t. Because of course I was looking at her. Despite morning breath, this chick is hot.

  “No, I didn’t think to pack one in here. As we speak, all my toiletries are underneath the stupid plane.”

  This puzzles me. She’s a supermodel. I’ve seen her face on the cover of Glamour, Vogue, Maxim, and Sports Illustrated this year alone. Isn’t looking pretty her main goal in life? And before you go questioning my manhood, knowing this crap is part of my job. Still, this doesn’t solve her problem.

  “You don’t have any make-up?”

  “No.”

  “Shampoo?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Deodorant?”

  “Don’t have any of that either.”

  That springs me into action. “This qualifies as an emergency. I’ve already been forced to deal with your attitude. I’m drawing the line at your bad smell.” I stand and pull her to her feet, purposefully looking over her head to avoid the amused smile turning up her lips. I’ve already seen that smile twice. A third might be my undoing. What kind of resolve lasts less than a day? Only a spineless idiot would cave this early. You’re done with women! Maybe if I start yelling it to myself it will be more convincing.

  “Alright, let’s go find you a toothbrush. And God help us, some Lady Speed Stick. The last thing this place needs is another passenger with B.O.”

  “I don’t have B.O.” But I see the sniff she gives herself. “Do I?”

  I say nothing, just lead her out of the throng of prone passengers, and wait for her to catch up in the aisle. The bag she insists on keeping with her is causing all kinds of problems, and even though it’s small, it looks pretty heavy. The moaning and groaning coming from her was my first clue. I would offer to help, but something else tells she would refuse. I’m not sure what’s inside that thing.—Gold? A wedding dress? Bomb-making materials? Whatever it is, she seems pretty protective of it. Finally, she reaches my side and surprises me with a question.

  “What’s your name, by the way? Doesn’t seem fair that you know mine, and I’m still completely clueless about yours.”

  I forgot I hadn’t told her. “It’s Colton.” I shrug, trying to appear casual. “Colton Ross. I go by Colt.” Without meaning to but doing it anyway because it’s always the way I react when I tell someone my name for the first time, I hold my breath. And then she does the one thing I was hoping she wouldn’t do. Her head tilts to the side in contemplation, the way someone does when they think they know the answer to a test but are one fact off from getting it right. She’ll get it eventually. It’s the eventually that makes me dread the future.

  She frowns and shakes her head. “Nice to meet you, Colt. Even though you insulted my hygiene.”

  The breath I’m holding releases. “True enough. But funny thing—I actually don’t know your name.”

  She stops walking and looks at me. “You don’t?”

  “Nope, the times I’ve seen you before, I’ve always been too busy staring at your…beautiful face to remember anything else. Though I’m sure your name is the prettiest part about you.”

  The eye roll she gives is just short of convulsion-level. In the few hours I’ve known her—most spent napping—this happens at a frequent rate. Not that I don’t deserve her irritation. I’m well-aware I’m being a smartass. Besides, I actually remember her name. I just want to hear her say it.

  “It’s Rory. Rory Gray. And my friends call me Rory because there’s really no practical way to shorten it.”

  “Roar? Because you have the temper of a lioness in heat?” I offer. The smartmouth thing comes naturally.

  “No.” She raises a don’t-mess-with-me eyebrow. “Not that I haven’t heard this before, so next time come up with something original. Where are we going? And what does a lioness in heat sound like, anyway?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, google it. We’re going to the VIP lounge, against my will. But you need a toothbrush and some emergency odor killer, so unless you want to shoplift at one of these kiosks I don’t think we have a choice.” I nod toward a stand filled with newspapers, magazines, and stacks of granola bars. I don’t see any deodorant or I might actually lift some. Anything to help the cause.

  “Oh, good idea.” She perks up, sounding relieved and almost excited about the prospect. I really wish she wouldn’t. She might like the lounge, but I have no intention of staying there past the customary thirty seconds it takes to grab supplies and maybe an apple or two. The past is in the past, at least until I get home. Even then, if I have any say in the matter.

  Once we walk inside the room though, it’s clear she has other ideas.

  Chapter 5

  Rory

  Massage chairs. They’re all over this room, and I’d completely forgotten about them. Now that I’ve landed in one, I have no intention of leaving anytime soon. If someone would offer to give me a pedicure and full leg wax, I’d stay here forever. Except Colt what’s-his-last-name keeps looking at me like he has someplace pressing to be. But the only place that might be is spot under a cold terminal window.

  I’m not going back to that window. Ever.

  Surprisingly, I’d rather he not go back either. Not that he has to stay with me. He doesn’t. In f
act, I’m perfectly fine if he leaves right now and—

  “I think I’m going to go.”

  “No,” I say a little too forcefully, then try to cover it up. “I mean, why don’t you sit down in one of these chairs and relax instead of taking off? You look like you want to bolt out of here.”

  “I was going to say I’m going to look around for toothbrushes, but okay.” He draws the okay out like I’m a time bomb and he’s about to run out of it. Time to escape, that is. I don’t like his tone. Not at all.

  “Oh. Then look for toothbrushes and come back.” I close my eyes and sigh. The massage thingys are currently kneading the knots out of my shoulders, and I give an audible moan of pleasure, stopping myself before things stretch out and become embarrassing. Cracking an eye open, I see Colt staring at me with a smirk on his face. “You’re still here? Why aren’t you looking for a toothbrush?” What I want to say is What did you just hear? but I don’t. No need to place emphasis where none should be. So I redirect and point to the chair next to me.

  “It won’t bite, you know. And it feels amazing. You should try it.”

  He doesn’t move, just gives a passing sweep of the room before shifting from one leg to the other and nailing me with a look again. He seems uncomfortable, like luxury airport lounges aren’t something he’s accustomed to. Something tells me that isn’t the case. “We came in here for deodorant and a toothbrush. I’m going to find both, and then let’s leave.”

  I settle further into the chair and give a tired sigh. “Feel free to go if you want to, but I’m staying here.” Even as I utter the words, I can’t ignore the odd pang of regret that comes with them. It must be the strange city and the strange airport and the strange VIP lounge and a serious lack of oxygen making me lightheaded. There is no way I’ve already grown attached to this guy.